Not my intention
by gracedUSA
Summary: Sam may or may not have stabbed their landlord...with the best of intentions. And now Dean's left to patch her up and help her start over. Not mine! Don't sue! Reviews make me happy!
1. Chapter 1

For a while it almost seemed like things were normal. They were working a case in Detroit, what should have been a simple salt and burn with an angry spirit that seemed impossible to pin down. Days turned into weeks and soon they were settling in, making friends, forgetting – if not about the job – about the constant wandering. They liked the town – good beer, muscle cars everywhere, lots of flannel, easy access to bacon at all hours, great classic rock scene – it was heaven. There weren't a lot of cheap hotels – at least not in areas where getting shot wasn't a real and pressing concern. So they'd used something Sam found online – Airbnb – and were renting something their host claimed was a bedroom but looked more like an oversized closet – in the arts district.

Not that Dean was complaining. Ana was pretty; she was bright; she happily blasted obscure blues at midnight over bottles of whiskey Dean never would have paid for himself. She was a designer at GM – and held strictly to their confidentiality agreement for the first three beers – then would occasionally pull out a sketch or two for them.

Things were great. Until they finished their salt and burn, until Dean realized they should probably leave for the next hunt. That is – that'd been the plan – until Sam found a book of early Church exorcisms in the original Latin – buried under a pile of vintage car magazines – well loved – open to a page of summoning rituals. That is – until Dean saw Ana wearing an inverted cross. That is – until they both panicked and started calling Ellen and Bobby and any other hunter they knew to find out if Ana could have summoned the angry spirit.

Which is how they got here, with Ana sitting, head in her hands, in an alley they should probably vacate quickly – since it was closing in on 2 am and they were – after all – in Detroit. Which is how they got here, with Ana drenched in holy water, and holding a pile of salt in her hands, confused, scared, with Sam's knife wedged just inside her right hip bone. Dean was back at home. Sam and Ana had been out getting dinner – Sam had started reciting an exorcism to see how she'd respond…he was spooked…he admitted it…and she'd winced then started laughing…and he'd panicked…and…well…stabbed her. It hadn't been a great plan. He'd followed up the stabbing with holy water and salt – which in all honesty should have preceded it – saw how she wasn't reacting – and realized what a horrible mistake he'd just made.

"Can you guys explain this one more time?" Ana asked – she was remarkably calm – considering.

"We found that book of Latin summoning rituals," Sam began.

"Yeah – that's a compilation of early Christian prayers…that a friend of mine…a priest actually…is helping me translate…" Ana repeated – for what must have been the tenth time that night.

"And you wear an inverted cross," Sam added.

"It's a St Peter's cross…I thought you two knew your lore?"

"And then you kinda shuddered when I recited that exorcism just then and…I panicked."

"You use classical instead of ecclesiastical pronunciation…I was laughing at you…sorry," Ana managed between gasps. She gripped the hilt of Sam's knife in one hand.

"We need to get you home."

"Yeah. That'd be a good choice."

Dean was more than a little upset when Sam laid Ana's bloody, unconscious body on the couch, knife sticking out of her side.

"What happened exactly?"

"I panicked. And I may or may not have stabbed her. Before testing holy water and salt…she's clean by the way. Just good friends with a kid in Catholic seminary and she's been studying the early Christian texts with him. And…we just got the entire hunting community on her trail."

"Yeah."

"Which means we need out of here…now."

"Get that knife out of her first."

"Who's coming after me?" Ana mumbled – the brothers looked up to see her standing in the kitchen door, holding the bloody knife in her side, somehow still upright, though it looked like that wouldn't last for long.

"Everybody," Dean replied, "now let's get that bleeding stopped and get out of here."

"This is gonna knock you out," Dean said gently, "Okay? I'm gonna take the knife out while you're under, we're gonna staunch the bleeding as fast as we can and then we're heading north."

Ana nodded, "And by we you mean?"

"For now just you and me," Dean replied, filling a syringe with morphine and wiping her arm with an alcohol swab, "Sam's gonna join us tomorrow, lay a false trail tonight."

"Got it," Ana said, swallowing hard.

"How you feeling?"

"Hurts a lot, pretty nauseous, starting to get lightheaded…better than I thought I would."

"Small favors," Dean replied, "On three…one…two…"

And he gave her the morphine and felt her body go limp in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

They stole a car from the garage – a Ford pickup with leather dark enough to hide the blood if someone just glanced and big, soft leather bench seat in front so Ana could sleep. She was so disoriented from the morphine she only half protested when Sam picked her up and carried her to the car, mumbling something about his being an idiot classicist and saying she needed to call her friend who was a priest to tell him how ridiculous all of this was.

"We're going north – I'm gonna see if she can make it all the way to the UP – head south west for twelve hours and then zig zag back up to meet us – see you in two days?" Dean reviewed, settling Ana's head in his lap.

"Yeah," Sam said as his brother began to shut the door, "Wait…Dean…"

"What?" the older man's voice was tight, his free hand carding through Ana's hair. Sam hadn't seen Dean look at someone the way he looked at Ana…maybe ever. And now she might be dying. And it was Sam's fault.

"I'm sorry. I thought…we both thought…and I made a mistake."

"She's gonna pull through Sam. Call Bobby…tell him to meet us as soon as he can."

"Okay Dean…drive safe."

"You too. And if you hurt my car I'll wring your neck."

"Jerk," Dean muttered, shutting the door and pulling away.

"Bitch." Sam replied to the empty parking space in front of him.

Thanks for reading! Would love reviews!


	3. Chapter 3

Dean pulled up to a gas station in a tiny town named Clare. Ana stirred as he tried to slip out without her noticing and when he went to shut the door she reached out, surprisingly alert, and grabbed onto his sleeve.

"Don't," was all she said.

"You're loosing blood and are probably hypothermic – it's December and it's Northern Michigan I'm not just going to…" Dean began, trying to reason with her. But Ana just shook her head. Dean took a better look at her, saw the fear in her eyes, and decided to play along. He took of his jacket, then his flannel, and wrapped the later around her, on top of the blanket Sam had already provided.

While he filled up the truck – which may have averaged even worse mileage than the Impala – Ana told him about its previous owner.

"He was a good guy," she said, " we actually dated for a couple months…I'd just broken up with him when you came along."

"So I'm a rebound?" Dean teased, running one hand through her dark, wavy hair.

"No. Never."

"Why'd you leave him?" Dean asked, wanting to keep Ana talking for long enough to assess her condition, then hopefully awake for long enough to get some meds in her. The morphine was wearing off, he could tell by the way she was breathing, and he didn't want to dose her with any more just yet. It was only three hours to Sault Ste. Marie and he didn't want her unconscious when they arrived. It'd only make things that much harder.

"He was great but…boring. He's an accountant for an auto parts supplier and his idea of an exciting night included trying a new recipe in his crock pot, buying a four pack of light beer, and watching whatever ballgame was on that night. And eventually…as much as I liked him…I wanted more."

"That's fair," Dean replied, topping off the tank and climbing back into the truck, "How are you feeling?"

"Morphine's wearing off," was the only reply.

"You think you can keep Tylenol down?"

"You know more about this than I do."

"Okay…I will be gone for less than five minutes…I'm gonna go get you some Gatorade and some Tylenol and we'll try that…I've gotta call someone who I think can help us out. So just stay still…I'm gonna lock the doors."

"I trust you," Ana replied, wrapping his flannel around herself more tightly and looking up at him with pure trust in her wide, ice-blue eyes.

"You've got a friend who's a doctor right?" Dean asked Bobby, searching the gas station aisles for unflavored pediatric electrolytes. If she threw it up, he wanted something as close to water as possible.

"Yeah – he just retired from a trauma center couple years back – works in a family clinic now. Why?"

"You know how Sam thought that chick summoned the angry spirits?"

"I remember – the one you were sweet on? What happened with that?"

"She didn't summon the angry spirit – grandpa was a fisherman so she wears a St Peter's cross – friend a seminary so she was working on translations with him – Sam mildly overreacted when she joked around about his Latin pronunciation."

"Define overreacted?" Bobby asked as Dean found the electrolyte fluid and added it to his basket, alongside blue Gatorade, saltines and a bottle of extra strength Tylenol.

"He stabbed her."

"And now what?"

"I'm talking her up to Sault Ste. Marie in a car we…borrowed…to make sure there's no one on our trail. Sam's taking the Impala on a quick little road trip to throw anyone who might have been interested in coming after her off our trail. I need you and your doctor friend to fly into Grand Rapids. Sam will pick you up. And hopefully you'll be able to fix this mess."

"I'll book the flights now."

"Thanks Bobby."

"Take good care of her."

"Promise," Dean replied, hanging up and handing the clerk his order.

"Carsick kid?" the clerk asked kindly.

"Something like that," Dean answered.

"Want a bottle of ginger ale too? Just in case? Used to help me when I was little."

"I'm all set," Dean responded out of habit, he always forgot how ludicrously friendly people were in Michigan, "but thanks."

"Don't mention it," the clerk replied, handing him his bags, "Have a nice day."

 **Reviews make me happy! Would welcome ideas for future stories!**


	4. Chapter 4

He gave her four Tylenol and a couple tablespoons of the electrolytes and she slept for almost three hours. Her head in his lap, feeling her breathing, and her heartbeat, rapid but stable, he relaxed enough to call Sam.

"Where are you?" came his brother's voice from the other end.

"Past the bridge already, if she can pull through for another 45 minutes I'll be able to stitch up the wound and get her some fluids," Dean replied, "You?"

"Ohio…somewhere…"

"Come back through Grand Rapids, Bobby and a friend of his are gonna join us – friend's an ex trauma surgeon – if anyone can fix her up…"

"It's him. Listen…Dean…I know you like her and I'm sorry. I overreacted. I got scared. And…if she doesn't pull through…"

"Sam she's gonna be fine," Dean replied. And hung up.

When Ana woke she was agitated, the pain was bad and she was starting to hit her threshold. Frankly, Dean was impressed at how well she was taking it. He pulled over when he felt her stir and helped her sit up.

"How you holding up?" he asked.

"Honestly it's not as bad as I thought. I'm kinda nauseous and it hurts, my head's starting to throb too…but…I've actually…"

"What?" Dean pressed, he needed an accurate assessment of her condition if he was going to be any help.

"With all the Tylenol it actually isn't that much worse than unmedicated PMS," she replied, a little sheepishly.

"That means absolutely nothing to me, but thanks for sharing."

Ana cracked a smile, started to laugh then whimpered when it jarred her injured side.

"We're forty-five minutes out. Want to lay back down and I'll have you somewhere warm and dry and stationary in no time?"

"Onward," Ana replied blearily, settling herself back in his lap and surrendering to unconsciousness once more.

Dean didn't start driving immediately, waiting for her to get comfortable, waiting for her breathing to settle. And then he waited a little longer, tucking his old shirt around her just a little more snugly, running a hand through her hair, realizing that – while he wasn't sure he was comfortable admitting it to Sam, or even to himself – he did like Ana – and he'd keep fighting for her and with her until one or both of them stopped breathing.

Dean parked outside a door marked reception at the Skyline Motel – one of only a few in the area with a Vacancy sign aglow. Sault Ste Marie was more built up than he remembered – but it didn't matter now – what mattered was that no one would expect them to go there – which would keep Ana safe long enough to heal. Ana woke when he shut off the engine.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do," Dean said gently, "I'm gonna go book us a room for a full week. That should be plenty of time to get you at least mostly on your feet. I've gotta give them a story so…"

"Your brother overreacted to his mispronounced Latin and stabbed me?" Ana replied dryly.

"I'm gonna smack him for that when he gets here…don't worry."

"Not if I beat you to it," Ana's eyes were glazed with pain and Dean could see that the sarcasm was a coping mechanism – he needed to get that wound clean and stitched and get her on some morphine fast.

"I'm gonna tell them we had a hiking trip planned but you're having a baby and the morning sickness has been really bad – so we might be staying in more than anticipated," Dean replied, cradling her cheek with one hand to keep her focused on him.

"Okay," Ana nodded then winced.

"Dizzy?"

"Yeah."

"Head between your knees, give me a second," Dean bent down and grabbed the bottle of electrolyte fluid, he took her head in his hands and guided her back upright then tipped it into her mouth, "Better?"

"I think so."

"Okay…one crisis at a time…we're doing good," Dean said quietly, "When we get out of the car I'm not gonna carry you – it's more built up around here than I remember and I feel like we'll get too much attention from that. You're gonna want to keep pressure on the cut – so just make sure you fake like you're cradling a pregnant belly rather than trying to keep yourself from bleeding out and we'll be fine."

"I trust you."

And with that Dean kissed her on the forehead and slipped out of the truck, glancing back as he checked in to make sure she hadn't passed out on him.


End file.
